A Room Removed: How Reconstruction Can Restore a Missing Chapter

Sometimes, a small room can tell a much bigger story about a historic building—and challenge us to rethink which parts of its history deserve to be seen.

Toilet Room (1942)

At Hotel de Paris Museum, a room that disappeared decades ago may be making a return. Dating to 1905, the second-floor toilet room represents a chapter of the hotel's story that falls just beyond its officially recognized period of significance of 1875-1900 as documented by the National Register of Historic Places.

Proposed reconstruction of the room raises an important question: How do we preserve a building's history when the story extends beyond the years for which it is best known?  A reconstructed room offers a tangible connection to what came next: the period from 1905 to 1949, when the building's story continued to unfold.

Beyond the National Register Period

A National Register listing identifies the years during which a property attained the importance that qualifies it for recognition. For Hotel de Paris, 1875–1900 provides an essential framework for understanding its association with hotel founder Louis Dupuy and Georgetown's mining-era.

However, this designation does not mean the property's history after 1900 lacks value. The years that followed offer insight into changing uses, evolving expectations of comfort, and adaptations that allowed the hotel to continue serving occupants and guests. Interpreting these developments helps visitors understand Hotel de Paris as more than a preserved remnant of the nineteenth century.

Toilet Room door and transom (2026)

Bringing Back the 1905 Toilet Room

Reconstruction falls within the Secretary of the Interior's Standards for the Treatment of Historic Properties and is defined as "the act or process of depicting, by means of new construction, the form, features, and detailing of a non-surviving site, landscape, building, structure, or object for the purpose of replicating its appearance at a specific period of time and in its historic location. The Reconstruction Standards establish a limited framework for recreating a vanished or non-surviving building with new materials, primarily for interpretive purposes."

Reconstruction will restore a missing feature associated with the property's early twentieth-century history. The return of the toilet room will help visitors visualize how the building functioned starting in 1905 and provides an opportunity to discuss changes made by proprietress Sarah Burkholder in order to promote Hotel de Paris as a health resort.

As with any reconstruction, the work will be grounded in reliable historical documentation and physical evidence (see images above and below). Clearly identifying reconstructed elements also allows visitors to distinguish new work from surviving historic fabric and understand the decisions behind the project.  More than a room, this feature becomes an interpretive resource, connecting the museum's physical spaces with a period that falls outside its currently designated National Register period of significance.

Toilet Room mirror, turned toward wall (2026)

Embracing Multiple Periods in Historic Preservation

Historic preservation professionals increasingly recognize the importance of understanding buildings through multiple periods of use and change, rather than interpreting only one preferred date or architectural appearance.  Later alterations can reveal significant information about evolving social expectations, ownership, and patterns of occupancy.

The Secretary of the Interior's Standards for the Treatment of Historic Properties provides a framework for evaluating preservation decisions. The appropriate treatment depends on a property's significance, surviving materials, available documentation, and preservation objectives. Reconstruction requires particular care because a missing feature must be supported by sufficient evidence to avoid conjecture.  Fortunately, the original 1905 door, transom, mirror, and toilet paper dispenser have survived; in addition, a photographic image of the room before disassembly is in possession of the Denver Public Library.

A multiple-period approach does not require retaining every alteration or reconstructing every lost feature. Instead, it encourages professionals to assess what each period contributes and how its significance can be communicated responsibly.  The toilet room demonstrates how interpreting a feature from 1905 can complement, rather than compete with, Hotel de Paris's established period of significance.

A Fuller Understanding of Hotel de Paris

A reconstructed toilet room creates an opportunity to connect architectural history with the everyday experiences of people who used the building in the early- to mid-20th century. It also illustrates how museum interpretation can acknowledge a property's evolution without diminishing the period for which it is nationally recognized.

By exploring both its nineteenth-century significance and the developments of 1905–1949, Hotel de Paris Museum can offer visitors a richer understanding of the building and the generations that shaped it.

Historic preservation is not simply about returning a building to one moment in time. It is about using evidence, thoughtful interpretation, and careful stewardship to make its history more fully understood.

Beyond Architectural Significance: Understanding the Value of Louis Dupuy's Hotel de Paris

Louis Dupuy’s Hotel de Paris has attracted differing assessments of its architectural character and historic importance. One preservation architect described the building as “architecturally insignificant.”

Hotel de Paris Museum 
Photograph by Gary Haines, Grizzly Creek Gallery

That observation raises a useful question for historic preservation: How should the value of a historic place be understood when its architectural qualities are only one part of its story?

Hotel de Paris Museum provides an instructive case. The site's significance rests not only in the building itself, but also in its association with Louis Dupuy, Georgetown's development, and the remarkable collection of historic furnishings preserved within it.

Not Simply a Building

Dupuy, known as the Best Cook in the Colorado Territory, transformed a former bakery into a hotel and restaurant that became part of Georgetown's commercial and social life during its silver mining heyday. The property connects several aspects of that history, including immigration, entrepreneurship, hospitality, and the development of a Colorado mining community.  The site's historical status reflects this broader context. Hotel de Paris is included within the Georgetown–Silver Plume National Historic Landmark District, listed on the National Register of Historic Places, and serves as a Site of the National Trust for Historic Preservation.

Historic Integrity

The property's surviving interiors and collection of furnishings and other associated items add another dimension to the property's value.  Rooms, decorative elements, books, furnishings, artworks, and other objects provide direct material evidence of how a 19th-century hotel operated and was experienced. The survival of thousands of items allows the property to be studied and interpreted as a historical environment rather than solely as an architectural artifact.

A Multidisciplinary Assessment

Preservation architects provide essential expertise concerning construction, materials, workmanship, alterations, integrity, and treatment. Other disciplines address different questions: historians examine people and events; social historians investigate communities and institutions; and curators interpret material culture.

An architectural assessment is therefore one component of a broader evaluation. Categorizing the built environment as unimportant may characterize a particular professional judgment, but it does not encompass the full range of evidence that informs historic preservation decisions.

Considering the Whole Resource

A useful question is: What can this place tell us that would be difficult to recover if it were lost?  At Hotel de Paris, the answer is found in the combination of its physical setting, surviving interiors and objects, and documented associations with Dupuy and Georgetown's mining-era community.

The property's architectural character is part of that record, but it is not the entirety of it.

Historic preservation is ultimately an act of deciding what evidence of the past we are willing to carry forward. Hotel de Paris Museum preserves evidence that cannot be fully reproduced once the place itself is gone: the rooms, objects, spaces, and relationships that connect Louis Dupuy's story to the larger history of the United States.

For that reason, the question is not whether every expert considers the building architecturally exceptional. The more consequential question is whether future generations should have the opportunity to encounter and learn from an unusually intact piece of history.

What the Town of Georgetown and County of Clear Creek Could Have Lost

It is difficult to measure the value of something that never existed—or, in this case, something that could have disappeared. But imagining Georgetown without Hotel de Paris Museum makes clear that its preservation was not simply the saving of one historic building. It saved an important part of the community’s identity, economy, and connection to Colorado history.

Stewarded Hotel de Paris

When The National Society of The Colonial Dames of America in the State of Colorado acquired Louis Dupuy’s Hotel de Paris in 1954, the property had already closed as a hotel and restaurant and was briefly operated as an antiques business. Instead of allowing the building and its contents to disappear through neglect, alteration, or dispersal, the Colonial Dames transformed it into a museum for the public. More than seven decades of preservation have resulted in a remarkably intact historic property, including approximately 90% of Louis Dupuy's furnishings.
 
Had that intervention not occurred, Georgetown could have lost far more than a building.  It could have lost one of the most tangible places connecting today's community to the period when Georgetown was a major center of Colorado's silver economy. Hotel de Paris operated within that world as a hotel, restaurant, and showroom for traveling salesmen. Today, it provides visitors with an unusually intact physical setting in which to understand that history rather than simply read about it.
 
The loss would also have diminished the historic landscape that helped distinguish Georgetown from other mountain communities. The National Park Service identified Hotel de Paris as a major reason for establishing the Georgetown–Silver Plume National Historic Landmark District in 1966. The district's designation, together with Georgetown's historic preservation efforts, helped establish the community's heritage as an important visitor asset.
 

Lost Hotel de Paris (imagined)

For Georgetown, the consequences would have been particularly visible: A landmark would have disappeared from the town's streetscape, weakening the historic character that visitors come to experience and that residents expect.

 
A major visitor attraction would have been lost. Georgetown's tourism economy is built in significant part around its collection of historic places, including Hamill House Museum, Georgetown Fire Fighting Museum at Alpine Hose No. 2, the Energy Museum, and the Georgetown Loop Railroad.
 
Local businesses would have lost another reason for visitors to stop, stay, explore the commercial district, dine, shop… and return. This is especially relevant because Clear Creek County identifies heritage preservation and sustainable tourism as components of its tourism strategy.
 
A historic building is not merely an artifact; when preserved and interpreted, it becomes a place where successive generations can encounter stories about the people and circumstances that shaped their community.  Future generations would have inherited a story with fewer original places and objects through which to understand it. The museum's surviving guest registers alone contain more than 18,000 individual entries, offering researchers a remarkably direct connection to the people who passed through Georgetown during the hotel's historic period.

Abandoned Hotel de Paris (imagined)

 
For Clear Creek County, the loss would have been broader still. Hotel de Paris is part of the interconnected collection of historic resources that gives the county a distinctive heritage tourism identity. The county's own tourism bureau describes the museum as a unique and unusually complete representation of early Colorado history.

Without Hotel de Paris, the county would have had one fewer authentic destination through which to tell the story of immigration, mining, entrepreneurship, hospitality, commerce, architecture, labor, and the cultural diversity of the nineteenth-century. The absence of the building would also have meant the loss of an irreplaceable collection of original furnishings and documentary evidence.
 
Most importantly, there would have been no opportunity to reinterpret the place for succeeding generations. A preserved Hotel de Paris allows the story to continue evolving—from Louis Dupuy's entrepreneurial life to the experiences of workers, builders, guests, women, immigrants, Chinese laborers, and the many people whose lives intersected with the property.

Altered Hotel de Paris (imagined)

The preservation of Hotel de Paris therefore represents more than architectural stewardship. It represents an investment in Georgetown's ability to remember itself.  Had the property been demolished, radically altered, its contents dispersed, or simply allowed to deteriorate beyond recovery, Georgetown and Clear Creek County would have lost an irreplaceable historic resource before fully understanding its potential.
 
Instead, preservation created an enduring community asset—one that contributes to the character of Georgetown, strengthens the county's heritage-tourism offering, provides a place for scholarship and education, and allows people to encounter something remarkably close to the world Louis Dupuy and his contemporaries knew.

The real value of historic preservation is sometimes easiest to see by imagining the absence: not what Hotel de Paris contributes because it exists, but what Georgetown and Clear Creek County would be missing if it did not.

Civilized, Standardized, and Personalized: Three Visions of Hospitality

Louis Dupuy transplanted French hospitality into the American West,
Auguste Escoffier professionalized and codified modern haute cuisine,
and Rosa Lewis elevated the female chef.

Frenchman Louis Dupuy is known as the “Best Cook in the Colorado Territory” and the “Father of Domestic Science in America,” but let’s not make him into an American version of either chef Auguste Escoffier or restaurateur and hotelier Rosa Lewis. 

Dupuy’s significance is different. He was a cultural intermediary who demonstrated that food, wine, architecture, hospitality and intellectual life could transform a remote frontier mining community into an international destination.  He referred to Hotel de Paris as his “souvenir (remembrance) of France.”

Dupuy, Escoffier, and Lewis make a particularly interesting group because they represent different versions of the late-19th- and early-20th-century hotel-and-restaurant experience: Dupuy in the American mining West, Escoffier in the emerging international luxury hotel industry, and Lewis in Edwardian London society.

These three talents and their contributions can be understood as three stages of the same idea:  French culinary culture → professionalized luxury cuisine → personalized elite hospitality.

AN EXCEPTIONAL RESTAURANT

Louis Dupuy is by far the geographic outlier—and that is precisely what makes him fascinating.  He established Hotel de Paris in 1875, when Colorado was still a territory and Georgetown was fundamentally a silver-mining camp. The hotel deliberately evoked the fantasy of a Norman inn, creating an extraordinary contrast between its European cultural aspirations and its inhospitable alpine setting. The hotel offered a first-class French restaurant in a town of roughly two to three thousand people and catered to wealthy businessmen, railroad figures, mining investors, hunters, fishermen, and travelers seeking an adventurous experience. Dupuy’s cooking talent and hospitality attracted everyone from miners to millionaires.

Dupuy's cooking was sophisticated, but it was not simply French cuisine transplanted and unchanged. He incorporated the culture of Colorado: wild game, locally available fish and produce, while importing fine wines and liquors, caviar, truffles, and other foreign-made luxuries. The National Trust for Historic Preservation describes his commercial kitchen and his attention to both local and import goods as central to his restaurant's success.  His famous 1879 "Millionaires' Dinner" illustrates his role particularly well: Jay Gould, George Gould, Grenville Dodge, Sidney Dillon and other railroad and financial figures of the Gilded Age traveled to Georgetown for dinner at Dupuy's well-appointed restaurant, which was still under expansion and renovation.  The group dined on oysters, turtle soup, pheasant casserole, venison with sauce piquant, sweetbreads Eugenie, vegetables, apple fritters, Peach Charlotte with brandy sauce, and petits fours.

Dupuy's contribution to culinary history is less about inventing a particular cooking style or technique and more about creating an entire cultural experience: French food, fine tableware, European wines, classical literature, eclectic architecture, genial hospitality in a place viewed as rough-and-tumble and somewhat wild due to its location. He was a place-maker who created a setting that set the stage for memorable meals.  He demonstrated that French culinary culture could be successfully adapted to an American frontier environment without losing its sense of refinement.

AN EXCEPTIONAL SYSTEM

Auguste Escoffier operated in a very different environment than Dupuy.  His great innovation was not merely preparing excellent food.  He helped turn the professional kitchen into a modern, organized institution.  At the Ritz hotel in Paris, Escoffier served an international clientele of European aristocrats, royalty, industrialists, theatrical and literary artists, and wealthy self-made Americans during the Belle Époque.

Escoffier's culinary influence extended far beyond haute cuisine. He organized the kitchen brigade system; standardized professional kitchen responsibilities; codified French culinary practice; and, developed and refined dishes.  He helped establish the modern luxury hotel restaurant as an international institution, and his creation of Peach Melba for the singer Nellie Melba is one example of how celebrity and cuisine became intertwined.

Because Escoffier helped establish the architecture of modern professional cuisine, his legacy is embedded in professional kitchens, culinary education, menu organization and the continuing concept of fine dining. Le Guide Culinaire and kitchen brigade system made his influence far more portable than any individual restaurant.

AN EXCEPTIONAL PERSONALITY

Rosa Lewis occupies a fascinating middle ground.  She came from domestic service and worked her way upward as a cook…and eventually became a celebrity herself.  She became associated with some of the most powerful households in Britain before purchasing The Cavendish hotel in London. After taking control, she personally cooked French-influenced food for prominent figures including King Edward VII, Lord Northcliffe, Lord Kitchener and the Duke of Windsor.  Her significance is therefore partly culinary and partly social.  Lewis represents the celebrity of the individual cook and hostess.

Lewis became known as the "Queen of Cooks" and was closely associated with Edwardian high society. Her elite reputation was built not merely on food but on her personality, relationships, and ability to create an environment in which powerful people felt at home.

Lewis demonstrated the power of the cook/hostess as a public figure and brand.  She represents a less institutional but equally important strand of culinary history: the cook whose personality, social connections and hospitality become inseparable from the reputation of the establishment.

DIVERSE CLIENTELES

Dupuy's clientele was heterogeneous. His guests ranged from miners to commercial travelers and nearby residents to railroad magnates and mining investors. His hotel was simultaneously a local restaurant, a luxury hotel, and a destination for sightseers, adventurers, and health-seekers.

Escoffier's clientele was increasingly international. Royalty, aristocrats, American industrialists, international travelers, artists and entertainers occupied the same luxury hotel environment.

Lewis's aristocratic and fashionable clientele was particularly connected to British power and society. Her association with royalty, aristocrats, politicians, military figures, and fashionable society gave The Cavendish a social identity.

SURROUNDINGS AND ACCOMPLISHMENTS

Dupuy worked on a frontier; therefore, his challenge was scarcity. He had to create refinement in a remote mining community. Imported food, wine and equipment had to travel extraordinary distances. At the same time, he had access to Colorado's game and an emerging railroad network.  His achievement was cultural transplantation.

Escoffier operated in an international hotel.  His challenge was consistency.  The Ritz was designed for a worldly clientele that expected predictable excellence. Escoffier's answer was organization and standardization.  His achievement was institutionalization.

Lewis conducted business in Edwardian London.  Her challenge was social distinction.
She operated in a city filled with sophisticated restaurants and hotels. Her worth came from her reputation, cooking, social connections and the atmosphere she created.  Her achievement was individualized personalization.

SIMILARITIES

The most important similarity: cuisine was only part of what these three individuals produced.  None of them treated food as merely something to eat.  Dupuy sold French flair in the rugged Rocky Mountains, Escoffier sold a luxury experience in a European capitol, and Lewis sold access to a restricted world of British high society.

In modern terminology, all three restaurateurs understood something we might call experiential hospitality.  Their far-flung restaurants became theater: flowers, lighting, service, music, cuisine, and celebrity clienteles all reinforced one another.

Where Did All the Dirt Go?: A Theory About the Excavation and Making of Hotel de Paris

One of the most intriguing questions surrounding the evolution of Louis Dupuy's Hotel de Paris is what happened to all of the rock and soil excavated during the property's expansion?

Over time, Hotel de Paris grew dramatically from the ca. 1870 Powers Building (a false-front two-story commercial structure) into a spacious Gilded Age hospitality complex of well-appointed rooms, efficient work areas, and discreet storage spaces located in two buildings.  Historical accounts document the involvement of Chinese laborers in some of this work, particularly in the excavation and construction associated with the expansion of the property.

Excavation on a rocky building site in Georgetown, Colorado would have produced an enormous quantity of displaced material, which proprietor Louis Dupuy confirmed in a newspaper article.  Rock had to be broken. Soil had to be moved. Foundations and a cellar had to be carved into mountain terrain.  But where did all this debris go?

My theory is that much of it may never have left the property.  Instead, the material excavated may have been systematically reused as part of the remarkable physical expansion of Hotel de Paris—providing fill, foundation material, and structural support for the Annex Building, kitchen expansion, east addition, warehouse, and the stone walls enclosing two exterior courtyards.  This possibility makes both practical and economic sense.

East Courtyard wall under construction (1890)

Building Without Waste

In nineteenth-century Georgetown, hauling tons of rock and soil away from a construction site would have required considerable labor, equipment, and expense. Hotel de Paris, however, was a constantly evolving enterprise operated on a constrained parcel of land. Every available inch of space mattered.  So, why transport useful material away when it could be used immediately?

Excavated stone could become construction material. Smaller rock and rubble could serve as fill beneath floors or behind retaining walls. Soil could be redistributed to level uneven areas or create usable building platforms.  Seen through this lens, Hotel de Paris was not simply expanded—it may have literally been built from the ground that was excavated to make room for it.

Rubble Walls May Hold an Answer

The most visible expression of this theory may be found in the hotel's two courtyards.  The substantial stone walls that define portions of the outdoor space have long been associated with the work of Chinese workers. This construction represents an extraordinary example of skilled labor embedded directly into the historic landscape.  But perhaps these walls tell an even larger story.

Could the stone used in their construction have come directly from excavation occurring elsewhere on the property?  If so, the walls are more than architectural features. They may represent part of an integrated system of construction in which excavation and building occurred simultaneously. Material removed from one area was not discarded as waste but transformed into the infrastructure necessary to support the hotel's growth.

A Complex Built in Layers

The Hotel de Paris we see today was not constructed all at once. It evolved.  The Annex Building, kitchen expansion, east addition, warehouse, and cellar walls represent different phases in the property's transformation from a modest commercial building into one of the most celebrated establishments in the Rocky Mountains.  That evolution required more than architectural ambition. It required moving mountains—sometimes quite literally.

The labor involved in excavating foundations and reshaping the site was physically demanding. Chinese laborers, whose contributions to the development of Colorado communities have too often been overlooked, may have played an essential role not only in removing material but also in determining how that material could be reused.  Their work may therefore survive throughout Hotel de Paris in ways we have not fully recognized.

Rock pile near Lion Gate (1905)

Reading the Buildings Differently

This theory invites us to reconsider what constitutes a historic artifact.  We tend to focus on humanmade objects: furniture, wallpaper, clothing, documents, and architectural details. But the very ground beneath Hotel de Paris—and the material concealed behind walls and beneath floors—may also contain evidence of the people who built and transformed the site.

Perhaps the Annex rests partly upon excavated spoils.  Perhaps the kitchen expansion incorporates fill removed from another portion of the property.  Perhaps the east wing and warehouse occupy ground reshaped with material that was once considered excess.  And perhaps the courtyard walls themselves are constructed from stone pulled directly from the site during the excavation process.

These possibilities cannot yet be presented as established fact. They remain a theory requiring additional archaeological investigation, documentary research, and close examination of the buildings.  But historical interpretation often begins with a question.  Where did all the dirt go?

At Hotel de Paris, the answer may be hiding in plain sight.  The rocks beneath our feet, behind our walls, and supporting the buildings themselves may not simply be part of Georgetown's landscape. They may represent the physical remains of an extraordinary process of adaptation, ingenuity, and labor.  If this theory proves correct, it will add another remarkable dimension to the Hotel de Paris story: the built environment was not merely constructed in the mountains.  In many ways, it may have been constructed from the mountains.

How A Mining-Camp Bakery Became a Restaurant Legend of the American West

An early Hotel de Paris bill of fare or menu provides a fascinating glimpse of Louis Dupuy’s restaurant during its formative years (1875–1879) when it transitions from Delmonico Bakery to a restaurant within Hotel de Paris. It suggests the establishment was already more sophisticated than an ordinary mining-camp eating house, but its cuisine was not exclusively—or even primarily—French. Rather, Dupuy appears to have combined French culinary training and European standards with hearty American frontier fare.

Bill of Fare, 1870s

This 1870s bill of fare should not be interpreted as the complete expression of Dupuy's cuisine. It is more likely an everyday menu, with special or seasonal dishes appearing when available.

This early version of Louis Dupuy’s menu is especially valuable because it captures the restaurant at the moment when a modest bakery/restaurant operation was becoming more ambitious. The menu also challenges the idea that “French restaurant” did not necessarily mean that every dish was French.

What Does the Bill of Fare Reveal?

 

1. It was an ambitious à la carte public restaurant, not a boarding house serving family-style.  The heading, “ORDER BILL OF FARE,” indicates customers made their choices from various selections. There is an unusually broad range of options for a small Colorado mining town: multiple cuts of beef, veal, mutton, pork, ham, eggs prepared several ways, fried foods, cold cuts, dairy dishes, cakes, toast, coffee, tea, and chocolate.

2. Meat was the centerpiece of the meal.  The menu is extraordinarily meat-heavy and designed for a substantial, protein-rich meal, appropriate to a community of miners, businessmen, and travelers in a high-altitude mining town.  Customers could choose pricey beef such as porterhouse, sirloin, tenderloin steaks, or veal cutlets.  More affordable options were mutton chops or pork steaks.  There is also ham, bacon, sausage, liver with salt pork, pigs' feet, brains, tripe, cold roast beef, cold ham, and tongue.

3. Early on, Dupuy elevated his menu offerings through a variety of preparations by offering onions, mushrooms, and breading for meats.  His menu occupies an interesting middle ground because his ingredients are familiar to Americans, but the preparation reflects Dupuy's European culinary background.

4. The restaurant catered to diverse levels of appetite and pocketbook by offering a significant range of prices. A customer could order a 10¢ (approximately $2.55 USD) serving of wheat cakes, corn cakes, buckwheat cakes, toast, coffee, tea or milk—or spend $1.00 (approximately $25.50 USD) on a porterhouse with mushrooms.  This makes the restaurant seem less like an exclusive luxury establishment and more like a graded dining experience: inexpensive staples for an ordinary customer alongside elaborate and expensive preparations for someone wanting something special.  Particularly revealing, is the 25¢ (approximately $6.37 USD) threshold: orders above 25¢ came with bread, butter and potatoes, making a substantial meal easy to construct.

5. Eggs were an important part of the restaurant's repertoire.  The egg section is surprisingly extensive and includes boiled, fried, scrambled, poached on toast, and a broad range of specialty omelets.  The last group is especially telling. A rum omelet, jelly omelet, and mushroom omelet may go well beyond the basic frontier boarding-house breakfast and demonstrate Dupuy's interest in culinary variety.

6. The absence of game and fish itself is interesting.  The menu has prominent headings for “GAME” and “FISH,” but the surviving image contains no dishes beneath them, which may indicate that those foods were seasonal or market-dependent, rather than consistently available. This is important because later descriptions of Hotel de Paris emphasize wild game and seafood, including oysters.  However, a March 1879 meal served to Jay Gould and other railroad and financial magnates included oysters, sweetbreads, and Peach Charlotte (a warm, baked pudding of stewed fruit and brioche bread with brandy sauce.

 

Birds-eye view of Georgetown, Colorado (1874)

What Kind of Restaurant Was It?

The Hotel de Paris Restaurant Dining Room could be characterized in the period 1875–1879 as a sophisticated European-influenced restaurant operating within a rugged American mining community—combining substantial frontier appetites with the culinary ambitions of a French-trained chef.  It was not yet the fully developed, luxurious Hotel de Paris restaurant that would emerge after the 1878–79 expansion after Dupuy purchased the Powers Building and renovated and expanded the restaurant dining room (christened Louis’) and constructed a new commercial kitchen.

What Kind of Cook Was He?

Louis Dupuy's genius appears to have been Europeanizing the experience of eating, rather than simply importing a French menu. A Georgetown customer could eat steak, pork, ham, eggs, potatoes, and bread—the foods already known—but could have them prepared with mushrooms, onions, sauces, and other techniques associated with more sophisticated cookery.  This helps explain why descriptions could regard the establishment as a first-class French restaurant while its surviving early menu looks remarkably American. Hotel de Paris was, from the beginning, selling quality, choice, refinement and Dupuy's personal culinary expertise, not merely French food.  After 1879, Dupuy offered increasingly elaborate European/French cuisine, fine wines from around the globe, and further developed his reputation as the Best Cook in the Colorado Territory, which attracted wealthy travelers and nationally prominent guests.

The Case for an Original Influencer

Forget ring lights. Forget hashtags. Forget viral videos.  Louis Dupuy was building a devoted following decades before anyone dreamed of the internet.

The Evidence

Exhibit A: He Curated a Lifestyle Brand

Louis Dupuy wasn't just running a hotel. He sold an experience. Guests came for elegant French-inspired dining, refined surroundings, and the promise that, for a few hours or a few days, they could leave behind the rough-and-tumble silver mining camp outside and step into a little corner of Europe.  Today's influencers call it "creating an aesthetic."  Louis simply called it Hotel de Paris.

Exhibit B: Food Content Was His Specialty

Before food bloggers photographed every meal, visitors couldn't stop talking about Dupuy's cooking. His menus featured oysters, fine wines, elaborate dinners, and beautifully presented dishes that became legendary across the nation, and, arguably, the world.  No Instagram stories required.

Exhibit C: He Mastered Personal Branding

People didn't travel to meet "the hotel owner."  They came to experience Louis Dupuy, the "Oddest Host in America."  His personality, reputation, and hospitality became inseparable from the business itself. That's not just marketing—it's his professional brand.

Exhibit D: His Followers Shared His Content

There was no "share" button in the 1880s.  Instead, satisfied guests wrote letters, newspaper and magazine articles, and travel accounts praising Hotel de Paris. Word spread from one traveler to another until people sought out Georgetown, Colorado specifically to experience Dupuy's famous establishment. Word-of-mouth was the original algorithm.

Exhibit E: He Understood Exclusivity

The finest table settings. Imported ingredients. Carefully created interiors. An unforgettable atmosphere.  Modern influencers call this "aspirational content."  Louis called it just an ordinary Tuesday.

The Verdict

Was Louis Dupuy posting selfies? No.  Did he have followers? Absolutely.  Did he shape opinions, inspire travel, define taste, and convince people that experiencing Hotel de Paris was something they simply had to do?  Without question.

So, the next time someone says influencers are a modern invention, remind them that one of the first lifestyle influencers was serving oysters and French cuisine in Colorado nearly 150 years ago.  He just measured his engagement in full dining rooms instead of likes.